


Don't Count the Miles

by Batsutousai



Series: Tales of the Fairy Men [11]
Category: British Actor RPF, Bärenhäuter | Bearskin, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Deal with a Devil, Living in Squalor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being banished from his home by his own brothers and left with nothing, Loki must make his own way in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Count the Miles

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Marvel. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The characters of Thomas "Tom" Hiddleston is based on a real person, and no offence is intended; this is only for the amusement of myself and other like-minded (read: mentally ill) fans.
> 
> **A/N:** This is part of a series of fics based on [a challenge](http://batsutousai.tumblr.com/post/38980067347) to write your OTP using various fairy tales. And colours. Twelve fics, one per month, for the entirety of 2013.  
>  November's prompt is _Bearskin_ with the colour silver.
> 
> So, there's apparently two different tales titled _Bearskin_. The French version is a bit of a _Cinderella_ variation, so I'm going with the German version of the tale. (Which is, if you tilt your head right, a bit of a _Beauty and the Beast_ variation. Therefore, no one should be surprised that it's the one I liked better. XD)

Loki shouldn't have been surprised to come back from the war he'd – loudly and consistently – objected to, to find his father dead and his brother – now king – uninterested in allowing his bastard brother to remain in the kingdom. 

And he wasn't surprised, really, more resigned. Thor and Baldr had been whispering – well, faux whispering – all their lives about how no kingdom ever survived when a bastard remained in line for the throne. As though Loki had any interest in the throne. (Honestly, he thought Thor should have been more concerned about Baldr, who was a peaceful sort of man, but had no qualms in discussing treason in the back alleys of the capitol city when he thought no one who might report him was around to listen.) 

Still, the sins and cruelties of his half-brothers were no concern of his, not any more. Thor gave him a day to sort out his affairs and pack whatever he could carry on his back – "We've no horses nor servants so incapable that I see reason to send them away with you, _brother_ " – and then he was to leave the borders with all possible speed. 

Loki did so without complaint, knowing there was no use, and hoping to leave Thor off balance by his easy compliance. He caught rides with travelling carts along the road, and used what little gold he'd snuck out with him to pay for food and lodgings where ever he may. He had no compunctions about sleeping outdoors, not after a long seven years of war, and knew well enough how to ration his food so he wouldn't chance starving. 

Still, it was not the most kind of existences, especially once the the hunters had caught up with him. 

He killed the first two without thinking about why they were attacking him. When he finished off the third one, he checked his pockets to find the written notice of a bounty. It was signed with Baldr's name, which didn't mean Thor hadn't had part in this particular hunt, but did suggest such. 

"Go rot in _hell_ ," Loki snarled to his absent half-brother as he crumpled the bounty. 

He captured and questioned the fourth hunter, hoping to gain some insight into happenings in the capitol. By the time he killed the man, he was no more certain whether Thor had part in this, but he did know they wouldn't stop hunting him until someone brought his head back, even if he left the kingdom. Baldr wanted him _dead_.

"If only I possessed the words to make them leave me be," he muttered to his fire. 

"What? You have no wish to simply kill your brothers and be done with them entirely?" a voice asked. "A throne is always more comfortable than the road." 

Loki stood and had his sword pointed at the speaker before he bothered looking him over. Once he did pause to look, he swallowed and quickly dropped his blade; it would be no use to him against this supernatural creature: Skin as red as blood, hair shaped around his head like a halo of fire... Loki had heard more than enough times the appearance of the demon Mephisto. 

Mephisto bared his sharp teeth in a cruel smile. "A wise choice, Prince." 

"I'm not a prince," Loki insisted, because he'd been stripped of that title when he'd been banished. 

Mephisto stalked forward, close enough that Loki could smell the brimstone on his breath. "You could be. King, even. You need only make a trade: Your soul for their lives." 

"I've taken enough lives," Loki snapped before recalling himself and looking away. "I only want to get over the border and make a comfortable life for myself. I have no interest in ruling a kingdom." 

Mephisto circled him. When he was in front of Loki again, there was something hungry in his eyes, and it sent a shiver down the ex-prince's spine. "A different trade, then." 

"I want no deals with you, Demon." 

Mephisto tutted. "Never say never, Prince." 

Loki bit his tongue to keep from saying something he might not live long enough to regret. 

Mephisto took his silence as compliance and started circling Loki again as he offered, "We shall make a...wager, shall we say. I wager you cannot survive five years paying no mind to your appearance and smell, without killing someone." 

Loki narrowed his eyes. "I would not take that wager." 

Mephisto considered than, then reached out and flicked the coin purse on Loki's belt. "I'll supply you with unlimited gold. They say it opens all doors, do they not?" 

Loki considered that. With an unlimited source of funds, he could bribe the men hunting him to return and tell Baldr he was dead. He could, too, build himself a comfortable home and perhaps buy himself companionship and security. Though, once the wager was ended and the money dried up... "Should I prevail, you will continue to supply me with unlimited funds for the end of my days and give up any claim on my soul." 

Mephisto smirked and stroked Loki's cheek, causing him to shudder. "And should you fail, Prince, your soul is _mine_."

Which was about what Loki had expected. "Agreed." He held out a hand for a shake, to seal the deal, but Mephisto ignored it, instead sealing their mouths together. Loki tried yanking away, but Mephisto held him still until the soldier had given in and opened his mouth to the devil's tongue. 

Satisfied, Mephisto stepped back. He motioned with one hand and a silver coat of fur appeared in it with a puff of red smoke. He held the coat out to Loki, saying, "You will wear this for the five years. The pockets will supply your gold." 

Loki carefully took the coat and looked it over. It smelled vaguely of the animal it had been taken from – a bear, judging by the size – but looked quite nice, at the moment. Five years wearing it and not bathing would turn the lovely silver shade into a dirty grey, he was sure, but at least it would be warm. He slipped it on, his hands touching a pocket on either side once they were through the wide armholes. Reaching into one of the pockets, he felt nothing but the cold metal of coins, though the coat didn't feel anywhere near as heavy as one might expect. 

"Acceptable," he decided, looking back up at Mephisto. 

The demon was smirking. "I do so hope to see you within five years, Prince," he purred before vanishing in a puff of red smoke. 

Loki returned to his fire with gritted teeth; there was no way he would fail. 

-0-

He had to dodge two attacks before the next hunter to find him would listen. And, even then, it was only because Loki had thrown a handful of coins at the man. "I will give you equal the price my brothers are offering for my head, if you'll go back and tell them I am dead. You can collect the reward money from them, and then you'll have _double_ what you would earn from actually killing me," he offered as the man tested a few of the coins with his teeth. 

The man considered him, head tilted. "Double?" 

"Yes," Loki agreed, adding honey to his voice to hide his desperation. "Two-hundred fifty gold from me, two-hundred fifty gold from Prince Baldr. That's five hundred in all. You could live quite comfortably on that." 

The man nodded. "That's true. But how am I to convince them you're dead? The bounty says I have to return with your head." 

Loki scoffed. "You really want to carry a head all the way back to the capitol? That's almost four weeks on foot, unless you've hidden a horse somewhere." 

"I could find a carriage to ride with," the man insisted. " 'S how I got all the way out here." 

Loki sighed and shook his head. "For the first couple days, certainly. But the head would start to smell after a few days, and then fewer people would be willing to offer you a ride. _And_ you're stuck with a decaying head for well over a fortnight. No, better to take my sword. Prince Baldr will recognise it as mine, without question, and he knows I would never willingly give it up while I retain life." 

"And yet you give it up now," the man scoffed. 

Loki withdrew his sword and stared down at it; his father had given it to him, claiming it was a great honour to receive the personal sword of one's king. Really, he'd gifted it to Loki in an attempt to make him go off to war without any more complaining. It had...sort of worked. Loki had stopped insisting they should handle the border dispute diplomatically, but the damage had already been done, especially as he didn't attempt to hide his disapproval. Moreover, Thor and Baldr were obviously jealous that King Odin's bastard son was the one to receive his sword, which left the army more than a little divided as they marched off. (Things were much better after Odin died and Thor was called back to the capitol. Which wasn't to say that Loki and Baldr got on any better, only that Baldr didn't have the same ability to inspire that Thor and Loki had.) 

He sighed and held out the hilt for the hunter to take. "I'm not the man my brothers knew." Which was as close as he would ever come to saying he'd made a deal with a devil that involved him not killing anyone for five years. The sword would only be a hindrance and temptation. 

The hunter took the sword and glanced it over, taking in how well cared for it was, as well as the gleam of gold showing through under the cloth Loki had covered the hilt with while at war, then never bothered removing, in hopes of avoiding attracting bandits on the road. 

Loki quickly unattached the sheath from his belt and held that out with the sack of two-hundred fifty gold coins he'd counted out earlier, in preparation of this moment. "Feel free to count them yourself," he added as the hunter stared at the bag with wide eyes. When he carelessly dropped the sword to one side and immediately sat to count the coins, Loki considered the job done and left. If the man was an unlucky fool and got killed on the road, Loki would have to find some other way of getting the bounty hunters off his back. Not that he would hear about it, likely. 

Oh well. He would manage. Somehow. 

-0-

Four more hunters found him over the next month, and Loki paid them five hundred gold coins to return home and forget about him entirely. By then, he'd crossed the border and was wandering across the next kingdom over. Considering that he'd traded his soul for five years as a vagabond, and keeping in mind his brothers' war-mongering ways, he didn't bother looking for a place to settle down. 

Another month passed and no more hunters had found him. Either he'd lost them entirely after getting off the main road for a less-travelled side-road, or the first hunter had made it back to the capitol with his sword and the hunt had been called off. 

One way or the other, Loki was a free man. (Well, save for his deal with Mephisto.) 

Some days, when Loki was feeling kind, he would leave gold for those unfortunates he saw, or buy a tavern a round of drinks when he heard some good tales. When he was in a bad mood – which happened far more often than he'd like to admit – he would walk right past beggars without a glance, or sit in the darkest corner of a tavern and glower at anyone who came within four feet of him. (Though, as time went on, people were less and less likely to come near him. Which didn't help his mood.) 

Partway through his third year, Loki made stop in a tavern whose owner either couldn't smell a damn thing, or who actually _appreciated_ the scent of unwashed man – Loki was betting on the former – for he invited the vagrant in and ushered him to the prime seat in front of the fire, insisting Loki looked cold and hungry. (Loki, personally, was neither, but he wasn't about to turn down anyone willing to overlook how disgusting he was.) The owner brought him out a tankard of ale and a bowl of stew, then sat down across from Loki with a tankard of his own and asked for a tale of his travels. 

It wasn't the first time Loki had traded tales for a meal – he didn't look like he had money, so many tavern owners requested a story for food; he would often leave a few gold coins behind in thanks for the kindness – and he had a ready supply. He told, first, how he'd outsmarted a particularly nasty baron he'd run into almost month ago. The man's lands were near enough to catch the attention of others in the tavern, and the owner had to give up his seat to make room for the interested patrons. (He wasn't complaining, since it meant he could trade a round of drinks for some coin.) 

He'd spent four months on a boat with some particularly snarly sea-farers, travelling between landmasses (putting an ocean between his half-brothers and him had seemed a most wise decision), and over a year after the trip, he still told a couple stories from then, knowing these land-locked men would be enthralled. After that, he shared some stories he'd heard from other travellers over the years, as he thought them far more interesting than the tale of his exile. 

When the crowd started to disperse at last, the men needing to return home for the night, the owner came over with a wide smile and a lantern. "I've a room for you over the stable, if you'd care for it." 

Loki stood away from the table with a grin, in a fantastic mood, and nodded his thanks. "I'd be most grateful." 

The owner motioned for Loki to follow him and led the way out of the dining room. "You should stay a couple days. People need some good stories, and I know more than a couple fellows who'd appreciate an extra couple hands to bring in the harvest, if your throat's feeling a bit too dry for a repeat performance tomorrow." He tipped Loki a friendly wink. 

Loki chuckled. "We'll see how the morning looks," he offered, and the owner nodded his understanding. 

-0-

Loki did stay another couple days, happy to help with the harvest during the day and share a few more stories over dinner at night. 

The second night, after a story about a particularly stubborn horse who had decided Loki was his master, he made a point of coughing loudly into his hands. His audience took that as the signal to share some of their own tales while he wet his throat with his drink. 

The first two men to speak had tales that were received with fond familiarity from the other listeners. When a third man started to speak, the group hushed him, and a fourth man told a story that was clearly well-known to those around the table. 

Before the man who'd been shushed could try telling his story again, murmurs of making it an early night went around the table, and everyone but the one man and Loki rose to go. 

Loki considered the disheartened man for a moment, then offered, "If you would tell it, friend, I would hear your story." 

The man stared at him for a moment before smiling sadly. "My tale is not a happy one, traveller." 

Loki shrugged. "All true stories have some sadness in them. Those with only laughter are hiding something. Often for good reason." He took a drink of his tankard. "Come, now. It's been a night of laughter, and I could use some sobering before I go to bed." Not quite true, perhaps, but he recognised the man from previous nights and thought he deserved a chance to be heard. Especially since Loki thought he might want to leave tomorrow; no one had asked about the coat he never took off or his refusal to clean himself up yet, but he could see the questions in their eyes. 

Loki had been raised a prince; he hated having his actions questioned. 

"I was once in service to the baron you bested," the man explained, "as his personal apothecary. I met a lovely woman from the local village and married her. We had three children together before she fell ill. I tried everything to save her, emptying my savings and ignoring others who had fallen ill or were wounded." 

"The baron threw you out," Loki murmured, recalling someone talking about a disgraced apothecary. 

"Just so," the man agreed. "We moved in with my wife's family and I struggled still to save her, but all failed, and we buried her but a month after. Her parents blamed me, and while they were willing to continue giving home to my children, they never wanted to see me again. 

"With no money and no promise of business wherever I might end up, I left my children with their grandparents. Some kindly souls in this village agreed to put me up, but no one seems to have need of my craft. I help with the crops, where I can, and in other small tasks, but I remain too poor to make a home for my children." He sighed. "My eldest is already being courted, and I can't be there to protect her. Her brother does his best in my stead, but he would much rather his jokes to protecting his sister with fists." 

"That is not a terrible preference," Loki pointed out with all the wisdom of a man who had been forced to live his life by the sword when he would rather have not. 

"It is not," the man agreed, "but when one of the gentlemen courting your sister is the baron's son..." 

Loki grimaced in understanding, having met the man. "And their grandfather? Is he incapable of stepping in?" 

"He is a man of war, my father-in-law," the man said drily. "He is a ranking member of the baron's standing army, and believes my son should stop playing and start being a man." He covered his face with his hands. "He has never thought ill of the baron, I do not think; to suggest my daughter _not_ marry his son would be...unforgivable." 

Loki nodded. "This is a sad tale indeed, but not without solution, I think." 

The man sighed into his hands. "If only someone would fall ill." 

Loki couldn't help himself, he burst out laughing. His guest groaned, while the tavern owner glanced over curiously. Loki waved the owner away with a smile and leaned forward across the table. "Friend," he called, and waited until the man had looked up at him before continuing, "it is your luck, I think, that I have a great deal of coin for which I have no use, wanderer that I am. It would give me no greater joy than to give it to you to build a home for yourself and your children. Perhaps, once you have a place to display your craft, those illnesses will begin magically appearing." 

"Sir, I could not!" the man insisted. 

"Please," Loki replied in the same tone. "The coin only weighs me down on my travels. It will be a far lighter burden in your own pockets than it is in mine." 

The man chewed at his lip, clearly uncertain. "But without any return? Perhaps I might make you something." He glanced over Loki's face, so dirty it appeared he had the beard he'd never been able to grow. 

Loki knew where this was going, and he quickly shook his head. "As I am, I have no complaints." He paused as a thought occurred to him. "In future, however..." He narrowed his eyes at his own overly-long fingernails, chipped from carelessness. "I do not intend to be ever wandering, though I enjoy it well enough for the moment. When it comes, though, that I wish to, ah, 'dig in my roots', I suppose, I would very much appreciate a companion to share my home with." 

"You would be ever welcome in my home," the man promised. 

"For which I am grateful, but that's not my intention," Loki replied with a faint smile. "What I ask is that, should your children be amenable, once I have decided to settle down, one of them will come to live with me for at least a year. After that, it is their choice whether they stay or leave. I simply want my new home to be a little less empty." 

The man blinked a few times rapidly. "Sir, that sounds very much like a wish worth having," he admitted, voice thick. "My children are to visit tomorrow, as they do every month. Should you wish to put your offer to them, I will gladly arrange it." 

Loki considered that for a moment, debating between meeting these children and simply leaving without anything settled, since he'd planned to leave in the morning. Finally, he nodded. "Certainly, friend. If you will find me here in the morning, we can further discuss your new home while we wait for them." 

The man held out a hand to Loki, which he blinked at in surprise. "It will be my pleasure, sir. I am called James, by the way." 

Loki took his hand and gave a shake. "And I go by Bearskin," he replied, using the name he'd given himself after taking the devil's deal, to further put any hunters off his trail. 

James' eyes narrowed on Loki's coat and he smiled. "That is one mystery solved." 

Loki chuckled and rose. "I suppose it is," he agreed before calling for the tavern owner to collect the lantern he would need to make his way safely to the stable loft. 

-0-

James' children, Loki discovered upon meeting them, were all attractive, in their own ways. The eldest girl, Sarah, was surprisingly tall and had a lovely face. The younger girl, Emma, had a square jaw, which some might find off-putting, but Loki found suited the rest of her quite well, giving her the appearance of character which too many young girls lacked. The only boy, Tom, was slightly taller than Sarah and wore a constant smile, which only further lit his already bright eyes. 

Sarah and Emma both, as Loki had expected, flinched away from him, wrinkling their noses in such similar ways, it was clear they were related. 

Tom, though, walked right up to Loki, considered him for a moment, then asked, "Did someone pour poison in your eyes when you were a baby?" 

"Tom!" James hissed. 

Loki smiled. "If only they had, I might be able to stop a heart with a glare." 

Tom gave a slow nod. "An excellent point. Perhaps they simply switched your eyes for a precious gem, then." 

Loki fought against the urge to smile wider. "Is there a particular reason you're complimenting my eyes, young Tom?" 

Tom grinned, wide and bright and more than a little bit mischievous. "They're the only part of you not covered in at least two layers of dirt." His sisters tittered from behind their father, while James let out a low moan. "I would compliment something else, but I fear all that would come out of my mouth would be an insult, and then Father will have me over his knee." 

"I should already," James muttered, just loud enough they could all hear. 

"It would only be an insult if I find dirt insulting, which I don't," Loki pointed out. 

Tom nodded thoughtfully, though his eyes still gleamed with laughter. "This is true. But eventually I would have to start using far ruder words, such as filth and rottenness, and those, I should think, would be insulting." 

Loki hummed. "Perhaps a bit." He tapped his chin. "Not nearly as insulting, however, as the gentleman who implied I had rolled around in my own excrement." 

Tom's eyes widened. "Have you?" 

" **Thomas**!" James roared. 

"Not yet," Loki confided, amused. 

James came up and smacked the back of Tom's head, making the boy wince. "I apologise for my son, Bearskin." 

Loki shook his head. "I'm far from insulted, James," he assured the man. "If only it was more common for people to joke with me about my appearance, rather than using it as an insult, or whisper about it behind my back." 

James grimaced and looked away at that, confirming Loki's suspicions that this village had done their share of whispering already. 

Loki returned his attention to Tom, who was watching him from behind his curly hair with eyes far more intelligent than they appeared when his grin was lighting them. Oh, yes, Tom would serve him quite well as a companion when he returned to a civilized life. "Do you understand the trade I have made with your father, young Tom?" 

Tom nodded and pulled his grin back out. "Of course! When you decide to stop playing in everyone else's dirt and have a plot all your own–"

" _Tom_."

"–you'll come find me to live in squalor with you for a year. And if I don't like your dirt, I can run away screaming after that," he finished, ignoring his father. 

Loki chuckled. "Are you insinuating my dirt would be terrifying?" 

Tom widened his eyes and put on a mask of innocence. "I would _never_ , sir." 

Loki nodded. 

"Only that it'll probably have bitey bits, and I'm really not fond of having my bi–"

James slapped a hand over Tom's mouth while Loki threw his head back and laughed. He wasn't sure which of them got the better end of the deal: James, or him. 

-0-

"The new baron's come to visit," Emma said as she sat down next to Tom. 

Tom glanced over at her, his fingers still moving over the flower crown he'd been weaving. "Has he? Will we need to tell Sarah's husband to lock her up so she doesn't go 'accidentally' waking up in another man's bed again?" 

Emma sighed and dropped her head to Tom's shoulder. "I liked you better _before_ you got your heart broken." 

"My heart isn't _broken_!" Tom snapped, wrenching at the flower crown between his hands. 

Emma let out a sad sound and gently took the ruined crown from between his hands. "It's okay to admi–"

Tom stood, angrily brushing petals and bits of stem off his trousers, trying not to think of the visiting noble's daughter who had caught his attention with her pretty green eyes, only to grind him under her heel once she realised his family wasn't as rich as their home made them appear to be. "You mentioned the new baron. We might as well go get a look. Perhaps, if we're very lucky, someone will throw some rotten fruit at him and we'll get to watch a flogging in the village square." 

"Tom, please don't joke about such things," Emma complained as she climbed to her feet. 

Tom sighed and took her arm in his, gently patting her hand. "I'm sorry, Emma. I promise, if there is a flogging, I'll get you home before someone starts bleeding." 

Emma sighed and gently knocked her head against Tom's shoulder. "Your kindness is inspiring." 

Tom rolled his eyes and they fell into a companionable silence as they made their way into the village. 

They saw the new baron's back first. He had long black hair – far longer than was in fashion, even for the nobility – and while his clothing looked fine from a distance, the closer they got, the more Tom realised it was actually common cloth. 

Before they could slipping into the curious crowd, the baron turned to look back at them. And his eyes... 

Tom would never forget that particular shade of green. Liked it still, for all that the recent betrayal had left him rather disliking the colour in general. 

"Bearskin?" he whispered. 

The green eyes glinted with amusement the same way his father's mysterious benefactor's eyes had, and his smile, when his lips turned up with it, was exactly the same, save the lack of dirt. "Hello, young Tom. Miss Emma." 

"In the Lord's name," Emma breathed at Tom's side, while the crowd of villagers whispered their surprise to one another. 

"It seems," Bearskin said, tapping his chin (and even _that_ was the same), "that saving the crown prince's life earns the reward of a forced retirement from wandering to a barony of my choice." 

Tom carefully disentangled himself from Emma's grip and stepped forward, taking in the man in front of him. Cleaned up and dressed in something that wasn't his ratty bearskin coat, he was quite stunning. At _least_ twice as beautiful as _she_ had been, with her imitation eyes. When he stopped in front of Bearskin, he licked his lips, then admitted, "I can't decide what to compliment first." 

Bearskin's responding laugh washed over him like a balm, beautiful and free. 

And for the first time in almost a year, Tom looked forward to the future.

..


End file.
